


FOR ALL THE PATHS THEY END UP TAKING

by headache (spills)



Series: thunder blooming [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: AU - Kimetsu no Yaiba, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spills/pseuds/headache
Summary: FOR ALL THE PATHS THEY END UP TAKING, Blake has come to accept that their nose tends to lead them to trails where the stench of blood happens to be heaviest.
Series: thunder blooming [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118660
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	FOR ALL THE PATHS THEY END UP TAKING

FOR ALL THE PATHS THEY END UP TAKING, Blake has come to accept that their nose tends to lead them to trails where the stench of blood happens to be heaviest.

Most demons tend to choose residence within forests due to the shade the leaves provide, and most demon hunters tend to end up in these forests to hunt said demon down.

Blake just ends up taking these paths for the convenience of bumping into possible prey, be it demon or human. Their rule was simple, if they move to attack them first, then it’s an offering to become their meal in that instant.

They close their eyes, letting the bells on their sash chime through the forest, homing in on their senses. From scent to hearing, the metallic tang in the air making way for the sound of… a boy sobbing.

The demon’s brows furrow, following the sound, how the owner of voice has their breath hitching, pausing for air moments after moments, a wail that follows long and mournful. Blake thinks that the sound is something akin to a wounded animal, or a toddler falling for the first time.

The oddest part being, the owner of the voice doesn’t sound like a child at all… more like a teenager if they had to guess?

Their answer comes by almost immediately, brushing by willow branches that reveal an indent on the side of the mountain.

A boy sobbing over a mutilated body in front them as he’s on his knees, the side of his mouth stained red, and hands – though claws would be a more accurate description – covered with blood. As dense as they are, it doesn’t take Blake long to connect the dots together of the little scene before them.

At least, it isn’t a situation that they’re unfamiliar with in their long, long life.

They take quiet steps, figuring that their presence wouldn’t be wanted here, but understands the slightest bit of support might be worth something to someone that was… most likely turned against his will. The first kill is always the worst, and he’s dressed in a tattered uniform from the Demon Hunter Corps. A peek over his shoulder and the body before him is also dressed in the same garb, only missing an arm, viciously ripped off from the socket.

Blake wonders if this is actually the boy’s first kill, or if he just murdered someone that might have been close to the chest before. Still, it’s more wails of disgust and anger that he hears instead of actual sorrow.

(If there’s anything that’s a curse, it’s how Blake remembers their first murders, then the second one, and it still makes them sick to their stomach. And really, they should have died, baking themselves under the sun would have been an honourable yet…)

“Why are you alive?”

An unceremonious question and the boy startles and gasps, wiping his head around with an angry flash of orange in his eyes, pupils slitted and marks that resemble lightning down his cheeks like angry tears. No verbal as the boy’s response is to raise his sword and attempt to run it through Blake.

Second Breath of Lightning, and Blake remembers fondly of the last Lightning Pillar that they had fought maybe three decades ago. She had bright blonde hair and a boisterous laugh, optimist till her last breath and fought them alone.

It was a fun battle, and once it was over, they kept her sword as a momento, among the other swords they have collected from various battles.

They figured it was one way to honour their loss, and left the bodies for the Demon Hunters to handle, usually taking a limb or two as meal. Insatiable and greedy was what another pillar once called them.

The boy’s sword runs through their chest, where their heart is supposed to be and Blake simply looks down, realizing they were lost in thought.

“That’s not a very polite answer,” Blake muses mildly, watching blood running down the boy’s blade.

“Shut up!” he screams in answer and pushes the sword even further in, twisting it. Blake wishes it would hurt but it doesn’t really.

Blake walks towards the boy, sword skewering them and there’s that sting they were looking for, giving a small sigh. It’s tragic and the boy stands his ground, baring fangs with his teeth clenched. He doesn’t flinch when Blake places their palm on his cheek, and they can’t help but feel a fond smile spread across their face.

What a brave little thing, to have made it so far alone.

“It’s a simple question that you should try to answer,” Blake tucks a lock of silver hair behind the boy’s ear, noting the stench of blood that stains the tips of it. “If you hate how you’re living now, there’s no point of a prolonged life as a demon.”

Their reflection in the boy’s eyes become more visible as his eyes widen, and there’s no hesitation when he slice open their stomach, entrails spilling out and they should have expected that. The boy takes two steps back, like he’s been burnt, a wounded animal in a corner and in any other situation, it might have been the correct response but now? Blake’s just slightly inconvenienced by his actions.

Though they suppose that it’s worth the amusement when the boy stumbles over the corpse, slipping on blood as Blake stuffs themselves full once more.

“You don’t have to answer me, I’m guessing you haven’t had conversation like this in a while. Are you still starving? You look very pale and weak and all that is sharp is your sword.”

He grips his sword tight, fist clenched, exhaling and inhaling slowly before finally.

Finally, a word is spat out.

“Revenge.”

It isn’t a surprising answer. It’s what they told themselves too when they woke up from their third murder, remembering the taste of everyone on their tongue. Waking up in the middle of the forest alone, but at least this boy has a witness.

“Okay, then just live long enough for that to happen, and then maybe. You can tell yourself that you had a good life. It’s a life that served an end and you won’t wander off too far.”

They get a grunt in response and Blake smiles wryly.

“What would you know?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Blake answers easily, “But I have horns and I have too many mistakes and you used to be human and you probably don’t want any mistakes to your name in this temporary life.”

They rest their palm over the boy’s eyes, feeling a sharp intake of breath and then easy breathing.

“But now, you just need to rest,” they whisper quietly to no one but the forest and the living dead.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll eventually get to proper notes one day I hope.


End file.
